Demons From Heaven
by Invader Jed
Summary: 8 years later, Ico's fears are haunting him with a vengeance so he decides to invite his old family to the castle, but now that Siania has become evil this has horrifying consequences...(Sequel to Yorda's Battles)
1. Prologue

Author's Note: Well people, it's been a while. For all of you who have read Yorda's Battles, this is the sequel. For you who haven't read Yorda's Battles, then you can read it before this as you will understand better! TA DAAAA! This is a fic of the game, but the sequel to a previous fic of the game, called Yorda's Battles, which I wrote too. We start off with the prologue of Ico dreaming about arriving in the castle.  
  
Demons From Heaven  
  
Prologue  
  
He was walking up a lot of stairs. There sure was an awful lot of stairs in this place. He slid his hand along the wall, caressing the bricks gently because they looked like they were about to fall in on him. He carried on climbing in what was a tower, and then saw movement in the cage he hadn't noticed contained something. He had noticed the cage, it was one of the first things his uncannily green eyes had set on when he realised his surroundings. He had been certain there was nothing, but there was a black liquid now, not quite as thick as tar but thicker than oil, some kind of mixed substance that had somehow appeared out of nowhere.  
  
He stepped back against the wall and watched it form with disbelief and fascination at the same time. It was filling the brim now, and there were no slopes at the ends like a soup bowl, so it dripped out, hanging down like a liquidised icicle for a couple of seconds, before it fell away from the overwhelmed cage and splashed lightly on the strange circular stone floor at the bottom, several other drips filling it with the shimmering black.  
  
Then, after he thought the display was spectacular enough, the liquid in the cage began to grow upwards like it was a fountain trying to escape its prison. Instead of a fountain, the delicate figure of a bent double woman, who raised her head just as he wasn't afraid anymore. He was about to step forward when the darkness called his name silently, and an opening of sheer darkness opened behind him and grabbed his arms, pulling him away from the light, from the tower, from the woman, and he woke up.  
  
~*~  
  
Raising his heavy head, Ico looked up at the strange crypt that had been his destiny a few short minutes before, perhaps an hour, he didn't know how long he'd been unconscious. All he knew was that the crypt had fallen when the floor had risen, and he had fallen with it. The result, his freedom, and a very sore head. Checking the horns protruding noticeably from his skull, he stood up and acknowledged his surroundings, the chamber he had been led into by the guards that had led him to his fate. He was sure that if they knew of his escape they would be here, and they weren't, so he was a fugitive.  
  
Had his mother known what was in store for him? Had his sister, Mari, known? Had his father, who had never really come into very close contact with his cursed son know, or planned this harsh punishment for being born with a permanent disgrace and regret for being born at all? The only thing worse for Ico to live was for him to die, and he knew which one he would prefer to do at that moment.  
  
Exploring the chamber, checking around corners for any guards who may have heard the crash, Ico found nothing but a lever on the wall, which he pulled at after a lot of deliberation. Twelve year old boys, even cursed ones, have an uncontrollable curiosity when it came to mystery. A door below him opened, he felt it through the stone.  
  
Instead of running down the stairs, the cunning and flexible boy who had jumped from tree to tree like a monkey took the short cut, jumping from the wobbly banister down to the ground floor, landing on his rear and crying out in pain and shock. He recovered quickly, he had taken a worse beating from children back home in the village. He moved through the door and climbed up on a stack of boxes, saw there was nothing to be done, so stood up on a wooden platform, climbing furthermore up a rusting chain onto a stone one, which held several strangely shaped jars. He picked one up and threw it, breaking against the wall. He did the same with the others in case there was anything of use to him. He found nothing other than dust, which was no stranger to Ico, as the walls and everything else in the rotting castle held dust high and low.  
  
Hopping up onto a windowsill, Ico looked forwards, thinking that this jump surely wasn't too high. Nevertheless, he turned and dropped himself into the room where he first realised this was where his dream was based. He knew where to go, and climbed one of the two ladders in the room to the first floor, ran up many steps, climbed up a chain, more steps . . . they seemed to go on forever and ever, up and up the high tower, the grey metal cage growing ever closer.  
  
When he saw that the figure he had dreamed about was there, and not a black substance but a huddled up woman, thin and frail. He couldn't see her face, but she looked very white, and Ico supposed she may be old. He suddenly wanted to rescue her, get her out of the cage. He asked her who she was, and what she was doing in there.  
  
"Don't worry, I'll get you out!" he promised, and ran further up, seeing a lever in the distance. He ran up until he reached a gap in the staircase, then noticed a broken window beside him. Climbing out, giving a quick scout for guards looking for him or making sure no one tried to rescue the old woman, Ico ran, his first glimpse of daylight that day. The sun was bright, and he was tempted to try his luck swimming across the moat to the other side, but it was so far away and far down, that Ico didn't think he'd make it. Besides, he had to rescue the old lady, because they were in the same boat together, both prisoners in this vast castle derelict on a crumbling island.  
  
He climbed in another window, and jumped down from the sill. She was still sitting, her wispy dress blowing in the light wind from the draught the window brought. Ico reached the lever and pulled. There was a creak and the cage bounced before beginning to lower. The woman stood up, and Ico ran all the way to the bottom without stopping. When he got there he realised the cage was still suspended. He still couldn't see her face, although she was thin. She didn't appear that old, though.  
  
Ico climbed another ladder so he was higher than the cage, ran around, and was within jumping distance of it. Thinking that if he could jump up and down a bit on the cage that might weaken the chain and drop it, he jumped. To his surprise, it fell when he landed. The cage dropped, wobbled and righted itself, the door swinging open. Ico, however, fell and landed on his rear again.  
  
Stepping out of the cage, Ico noticed the thin female was not an old woman, but a girl. Older than himself, but still a young girl, frail and tired- looking. She approached Ico, whispering something in a different language.  
  
"They tried to sacrifice me because I have horns," Ico explained, noticing a burning stick next to him that had fallen, "Were they trying to sacrifice you, too?"  
  
The girl didn't say anything but knelt down, crawling near him, her hand outstretched to touch his face. Just before she did so, black straggly arms closed around her waist and lifted her over its shoulder. Ico stood up and grabbed the stick, the creature dragging the girl to a black hole on the other side of the room roughly. It jumped in, taking the girl with him, Ico running behind, the fire on the end of the stick by now burnt out. The girl's arms and head were disappearing, she was drowning in the dark and Ico reached out a hand to grab her but she sank further and further down into the black, he was too late, and she was gone . . .  
  
"YORDA!" Ico cried, bolting upright in his sleep, gasping for breath, sweat clinging protectively to his now grown up rugged features. His face was thinner, his hair was shorter, his mind was wiser and his body was stronger, but he was still the peasant boy that had fallen in love with the princess, and now they were married, and he was the king. He didn't really enjoy his title and doubted Yorda liked hers as queen, but the people needed her and he needed Yorda.  
  
He looked to his left and saw her sitting up, his cry had woken her, too. Still thin and frail, even after child birth but oh so beautiful, his wife's sleepy violet eyes looked at him concernedly, so he smiled to reassure her.  
  
"The dream?" she guessed. Ico nodded, and she sighed, giving her husband a light peck on the cheek before lying down again, closing her eyes, "Don't worry. Dreams pass, and I'm here, amn't I?"  
  
Ico nodded to himself, looking at her back. 'It couldn't last forever,' he thought, 'something is going to try and take her away from me again.'  
  
It had been eight years. They had two children, one was seven and one was four. The eldest, a boy, was named after Yorda's late father, the only one in her family who hadn't wanted her dead but had died shortly before she had been locked up, and his name was Vari. The younger girl was named after Ico's mother, Niannara, but everyone called her Narra or Nia.  
  
The past few years had been the happiest Ico had ever known, but his senses told him it wouldn't be forever perfect, but it worried him at what could come next. The Queen was dead, Keoden and Giannias were long buried and the Spirits had gone at last. Ico tried to tell himself he was thinking the worst, but something nagged him at the back of his mind that happiness couldn't last forever.  
  
As he tried to get to sleep, he heard a whispering voice in his ear, hissing nastily, "Breathe, Ico, breathe. You'll need all the air you can get for what's coming, Ico. Breathe . . . breathe . . . "  
  
~*~  
  
A/N: What did you think of that, then? Good? Bad? Haven't decided yet? Too sleepy to read? Well . . . review and let me know, okay? OKAY????  
  
Thanks . . . phew. 


	2. Shadow My Thoughts

Author's Note: Okay. Not got any reviews yet, folks . . . a little disheartening, but I'm going to keep writing just for the sake of it! NYAHA! Okay. So . . . please, if you read it can you just maybe put a couple of lines in? I accept anonymous ones so you don't have to sign in! Just a little effort, folks, to tell me how to improve the story. Thanks.  
  
-Demons From Heaven-  
By Julie Danskin  
  
Chapter One - Shadow My Thoughts  
  
"I love you. I love you, Ico. Keep going. Keep moving. Keep breathing."  
  
Her voice was soft and tender in his ear, making the skin on his back shiver with pleasure hearing her speak. He had always marveled at her. She was so beautiful, and always seemed to be happy although he knew she was sad. She was always so sad. Eight years since Keoden had died, twelve years since the young boy he had once been had defeated the Princess of Light and Shadow's evil mother, the queen. Twelve years since she had been imprisoned in the iron cage he now dreamed of so hauntingly often nowadays. It was as if he was back in the castle, his mind playing tricks on his body so he felt like a twelve-year-old boy again in a small body, capable of jumping impressive distances and clambering up ropes and chains expertly.  
  
"I love you, Ico . . . keep breathing . . . keep moving . . . "  
  
There had always been something he regretted, ever since Biocha's funeral eight years ago. His younger sister, Siania, from the family who had taken him in after he had lost Yorda to her older brother. They had not departed on impressively friendly terms, and they had been so close before.  
  
"Breathe . . . "  
  
Siania reoccurred in his dreams too, although he did not know why. Sometimes, just after Yorda disappeared down the black hole, Sai's face would appear, laughing and cold, her eyes like daggers piercing his flesh. That was not the memory Ico wanted of the young horned girl Ico had not seen since Biocha's funeral, that was not the memory he wanted of the girl who had called him her brother, had been a friend when all others resented him.  
  
"It's only a dream . . . "  
  
It's only a dream. That was what she was saying, Yorda. She wanted him to feel better, she wanted him to feel safe and secure at nights. She didn't want to have to be calling him back, she didn't want him to feel so scared of losing her when she was so blatantly obviously there and living. But still he was climbing the staircase, still he was lowering the cage, still he was jumping on top of the cage, breaking the chain so it fell to the ground and him along with it. Still the stick clacked next to him, the flame burning out slowly, and then she stepped out of the cage, walked over to him slowly, knelt down, reached out while he spoke and backed away, so unsure of the young girl he had married, so scared of the consequences of helping her, never thinking that this could be the woman he loved so much, but then he could worry no more as the thing had her again. It dragged her away and in the dream he was too slow, he swung clumsily at the beast but it had her and it pulled her into its dark, dark hole. He dived for her hand but it was too late again, her violet eyes caught his as they sank away, screaming terror and cries of helplessness from innocent tongues . . .  
  
Then there was her face. Where Yorda's had been emerged the laughing face of Siania, who had cried into his shoulder, who had laughed with him, who had ridden with him and held his hand when both of them were afraid and alone . . . she was there laughing at him. And it wasn't at a joke, it was at his stupidity. Stupid Ico, letting go of such a beautiful, scared, tortured little girl whose eyes were hazy and clouded with bad dreams and spells of evil. Stupid Ico. 'It's time to pay, Ico,' her eyes said, 'with more than just your lover . . . '  
  
"Ico . . . ?"  
  
'What do you mean by that?' Ico pleaded with the laughing, tormenting eyes of his sister, because she had insisted she was his sister, 'What do you mean, Sai?'  
  
"Ico . . . come on . . . "  
  
'What do you mean by that? Tell me!' But her eyes just laughed. They kept laughing and laughing until he could bear it no more and screamed aloud.  
  
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?!?!" he yelled, demanding, thrashing around with his hands and feet, but there was someone holding him down, shouting in his ear, a voice that soothed him, "WHAT DO YOU . . . what do you . . . mean . . . tell me . . . please, tell me . . . " Ico sobbed, letting his head sag forward into the arms of the person holding him.  
  
~*~  
  
Kiassa picked up the letter and looked at it curiously, recognising the hand-writing on the front of the envelope, addressed to her daughter. She slid it across the table to Siania, making sure her husband caught a glance of it. While Siania, the once cheerful and boisterous child now a silent and serious young woman who only ever had a scowl on her face fondled the envelope between her long pale fingers before sliding one index finger underneath the seal, her father Raath, old beyond his years, looked up at his wife.  
  
He mouthed one word: "Ico." Kiassa swallowed and nodded at Raath, who sighed deeply, flicking his eyes up to his daughter's, not looking at him but tearing the wax seal from the thick paper, removing a folded piece of the same kind of texture as the envelope. She unfolded it carefully, looking at it as if she were slightly amused, with one eyebrow raised and her lips slightly apart. Raath saw her eyes begin to read.  
  
Dear Siania, It breaks my heart to suddenly realise we have not been in touch for so long. My random thoughts of you were provoked by my dreams, and I take this as a sign to make amends from past years. You have never replied any previous letters or invitations I have sent, but I implore you to at least consider this. You once called me your brother, there was one time that you insisted I was your flesh and blood. I see now that I look  
upon you still as my younger sister, although now I recognise you are a woman now, nearing your twentieth year. It is my daughter's fifth birthday next weekend, and she is anxious to meet you as she has been told stories of our previous adventures together, do you remember? You have never seen my children, and I would so love it for you and Mother and Father to come and meet them, and stay as long as you will. My messenger will patiently wait until you reply with a message, very hopefully positive. He is under orders to not leave without one. Your loving brother and King (although I wish you not to call me that, it's necessary to sign it under my enslaved  
monarchy), Ico.  
  
Kiassa almost dropped her cup of tea when she saw the side of Siania's mouth curl up in a tight smile, a small sound coming from the young girl's nostrils that could almost be called a sarcastic chuckle. Siania looked up and saw her mother and father looking at her intently, then glanced up at the messenger outside the window, grooming his horse tentatively. She narrowed her eyes, the sly smile on her lips remaining.  
  
"How nice," she said quietly, moving her eyes to Raath, whose eyes were also narrowed, "my . . . brother . . . has invited us to stay at his house next weekend . . . to celebrate his daughter's fifth birthday. For as long as we wish to stay, apparently."  
  
Kiassa smiled, "Don't refuse this one, dear," she said, stepping delicately, trying to avoid her daughter's stale glare that troubled the ageing woman, "let's all go and see your niece, why don't we? It'll be so nice to see Ico again, and you could even visit . . . " Raath gave her a warning glance, but Kiassa continued, Siania's eyes fixated on her cautious mother, daring her on, "You could even visit Biocha's grave . . . if you wanted . . . you don't have to if you don't want to, that is, just if you did then it would be a good time to . . . "  
  
"Mother," Siania cut her off with one emotionless, cold, empty word, Kiassa's mouth still slightly ajar from her stammering, "we shall go if you so wish it."  
  
Raath looked suspiciously from his wife to his daughter, then nodded at Siania, "Well you had better write back then, his messenger is outside. And you write it yourself, Ico addressed his letter to you. Do it now, so the poor lad can get back before nightfall." Siania regarded her father's suggestion, then took a piece of paper and an envelope hand-made by Raath's cousin from a pile under a large stone keeping it flat, then went into her room, Ico's letter clasped in her right hand.  
  
Kiassa glanced up at Raath, and bit her lip.  
  
"Do you think maybe seeing him again will . . . " she began, but her husband only shrugged.  
  
"I don't know. Maybe with seeing Biocha's resting place again will set her at ease and bring back our Sai again. But we can only pray and hope, darling." Raath said gently, putting a hand over his wife's one over the table. Kiassa nodded, and a tear ran down her face, and she sniffed.  
  
"I know it shall make me feel better to see him again . . . he was our son . . . " she mumbled. Raath nodded understandingly, squeezing her hand.  
  
"He is our son. I doubt his being King will change who Ico is, he is a strong and meek character by heart, and no monarchy can change that. Now, Kiassa, darling, go out and tell the messenger to join us for a drink until Siania has finished writing." Raath stood up and leaned over to her ear, "Remember, my One, that we saw her smile," he whispered, winked, and went into the master bedroom. Kiassa smiled to herself, and walked out to meet Ico's servant with a smile on her own face, the tear still traveling down her wrinkled face.  
  
~*~  
  
With her quill tip poised on the paper, the ink dripping down the sharp point and creating a black blotch on the sheet, Siania chewed at the inside of her mouth, rapping the long nails on her left hand along the wooden desk consecutively, again, again, making a noise on the good oak wood. She sat on a stool, the folds of her dress tucked in neatly so the garment would not crease. Her dirty blonde hair plaited at the back fell by her waist, swinging against her back. She picked it up and played with the end of it, the plait now over her shoulder. Suddenly, inspiration came:  
  
Dearest Ico, My apologies for not replying to any of your letters  
beforehand over the last eight years, it must have slipped my mind.  
  
Siania chuckled to herself. Yes . . . sound like the ditzy young girl. That will make it so much sweeter when he finds out . . .  
  
My parents and I would be delighted to be in your company next weekend, and  
I personally look forward to meeting your darling children, whose names  
surpass me, I am afraid. No doubt I will be able to recall.  
  
Siania paused, causing another blotch on the paper. She poured some salt over it to soak up the worst of it, then thought of what else to write. She thought of what was most precious to Ico and smiled inwardly, crookedly.  
  
Of course, I am full of anticipation of coming in acquaintance with your  
beautiful queen once again, and hope we may be able to put differences behind us. Speaking of putting things behind us, I also wish to visit the resting place of Biocha, my old and trusted friend who so terribly perished  
in the fight that freed your darling Yorda.  
  
Yorda. How Siania despised the name of the woman Biocha had unnecessarily died to protect. She should have died. Yes, Yorda would pay, which would mean Ico would have to pay. She had become so bitter and hating over the years that she didn't care who got hurt, even the man who had once been her brother . . . well he had chosen his fate when he took the side of his beloved wife and became King. She would have a week to plan her revenge, and as long as she needed to carry it out.  
  
The victims themselves had provided time. They would pay the consequences that she had before had to endure alone. Now she could watch other people suffer, writhe, scream, die.  
  
Yes King Ico and Queen Yorda, it was time to die.  
  
Now laughing aloud, not caring if her parents heard her or not, Siania finished the letter, sealed it with the wax stamp, and a drop of blood from her finger, invisible against the red of the seal but meaningful. And subtle, for that was what her revenge would ultimately be.  
  
Subtle, and terrible. So terrible.  
  
I look forward to spending time for you again, and I certainly remember our  
old escapades and adventures, when we were so much more than adopted  
siblings but trusted friends. It will not be long, dearest Ico, that we will feel that companionship once more. Your ever loyal servant and sister,  
Siania Manaan.  
  
~*~  
  
Oooooooo naughty and bad Siania! What does she have in store for Ico and Yorda? Read next chapter to find out, up soon hopefully, if my memory is not bad, like it usually is. Shut up, Julz. Okay. Sorry. (  
  
*sniff* no one loves me . . . review anyway! 


	3. Poison Ivy

Author's Note: Hey. Um . . . review? So you all remember what happened last chapter, yeah? Okay. If you can't remember . . . read it again!  
  
-Demons From Heaven-  
By Julz Danska  
  
Chapter Two - Creeping Ivy  
  
Yorda stood on the balcony of the castle watching the great gates of Ara P'Way being opened for the three horses holding Ico's old family, ringing her hands nervously. Yorda remembered that Siania had looked up to her and liked her a lot while Ico and the twelve-year-old Sai were staying in the city. But more clearly, Yorda remembered the look Siania had given her at Biocha's six-month memorial service.  
  
Yorda wasn't stupid; she knew full well Siania blamed her for Biocha's death no matter how much Ico tried to convince her she was wrong. She hoped that perhaps Sai had forgotten the past memories, but something inside her told her it was not so, which saddened the young queen greatly but she found ways of dealing with it, life would go on even if there was a mourning of an old friend gone sour. She was twenty now, Siania, and Yorda was curious as to what she looked like, but Ico was anxious.  
  
He came up beside her and whispered in her ear, "You look beautiful, Your Majesty," he smiled, he had such a nice smile.  
  
Yorda nodded, looking him up and down, "So are you," she let him put a welcome arm around her waist as they watched Siania, Kiassa and Raath riding through the city on their horses. Ico marveled at Yorda, she was so small, even now, when she ruled multiple islands, twelve in total. Well, eleven, because the one that Yorda had once lived and been imprisoned in as a child was no more than a pile of rubble poking up from below the sea. Yorda visited each island except that one at least once a year for a week, but she lived in Ara P'Way on the main island, the island the sea had brought her to, Awaquis.  
  
Yorda was beautiful, but she genuinely didn't know it or care much whether she was beautiful or not. She was looking especially beautiful today, her tiny figure clad in a thin material with an interesting pattern on the skirt, which went down to below her knees. At the best of times she chose not to wear shoes but today she wore pretty leather sandals. Even her feet seemed beautiful to Ico, he loved her so much even now. The dress was not very low cut but he didn't find any specific feature of her especially beautiful, she had a flawless face, impenetrable wondering violet eyes. What he found beautiful was the way she held herself, small and scared but tender and passionate. She always stood straight, sometimes with her head bowed and her hands clasped, eyes closed with a little smile on her face.  
  
Then she would lift her head and let the wind blow her jaw-length hair back into a messy trail that in itself seemed beautiful. Ico often wondered why she had chosen him, chosen a peasant boy who had a tendency to save her life to be the love of her life, the father of their children. Nianara and Vari were both very much Yorda's children. Or Narra was anyway, with her violet eyes and smallness, like a small forest creature with a loving smile. She had Yorda's thin mousy hair but had Ico's thin lips that somehow made her look much different to her mother. Vari, however, had Ico's very green eyes but Yorda's hair, which he grew long and hung around his shoulders messily. Ico could not even think of wishing his children to be more perfect than they were, everything was perfect.  
  
But his fears nagged him, said it couldn't last, said that something was coming that would destroy him and his family, crush his soul like an insect. Ico feared his nightmares but chose to ignore them, Yorda was right, Yorda was always right. They were perfectly safe in Ara P'Way, the civilians were happy with their rulers all across the islands. Ico took Yorda's hand, the wispy sleeves wound round her arms and blew in the forceful wind. Yorda looked up at Ico, quite a bit taller than she, her violet eyes connecting with his emerald ones. They met and held, then closed and the two pushed their faces together sharing a tender kiss.  
  
"Mama!" Vari's voice sounded from inside the balcony, "Papa! The guests are here!" Vari was intelligent for a seven year old, he knew what was what, what was right, what was wrong. It had not taken Yorda long to teach him because she was so perfect. Ico still wondered how he had ever come to deserve such an astonishing creature and its offspring.  
  
Little four-year-old Narra skipped in from another room, joining her family on the balcony. She gave them one of her heart-melting smiles that always made the servants let her stay up a little bit longer to play with her tortoiseshell cat Riara. She was a playful soul and loved to hug people, especially her parents. Vari was at the stage that he would only allow his little sister to hug him when there was no one around. Despite this, there were no topics for arguments, and if there were then they were solved quickly and easily. Love was enough for the Islands' royal family, but it was not so with their guest, who had long since forgotten how to love, and she blamed Queen Yorda for this. However, she had unfortunately not forgotten how to think, which is why this tale is one of heartache and desperation, a battle to set things right after so many things had gone wrong.  
  
Siania was polite enough when they welcomed them to the castle, oh yes; she curtsied beautiful to King Ico and Queen Yorda and Prince Vari and even little Princess Nianarra. But her soul scowled at Yorda and Ico for standing by his wife and not her, his Sai, his best friend. He had taken Yorda's side without him realizing it, so manipulative Yorda was thought to be. Of course this was nonsense, but Siania believed her own lies, believed the dreams when Biocha came to her and told her to destroy Yorda and her family in the worst way possible. Of course this was ridiculous, Biocha had been of the best of men and would be appalled at Siania's change of heart and her cruel soul that ate away at her, her mother and father.  
  
But she believed so strongly, so blindly, that it was Yorda who had as good as killed Biocha, her one friend except Ico during the hardest time in her life, and had suddenly gone away. It was as if he had never been. How could Biocha's wife and children live on in the same city in which Yorda and her family lived knowing it was her fault Biocha died? This was technically true as it was Yorda Biocha was fighting to save, she had told him to go. He didn't have to help save her; he fought of his own free will because of his loyalty and love for Yorda. That was the truth, but Siania could not accept this. Yorda was just a silly princess at the time, who really cared? They probably would have been better off with Keoden ruling anyway.  
  
Still she smiled and said "My Lady," to Yorda, and "My Lord," to Ico, even when he told her not to. But in her head were the twisted, dark cogs turning with her plan already formulated. The key to Yorda's soul and Ico's downfall was through the two brats, Vari and Nianarra. But how . . . there was a way that Siania could break the parents before she killed them, like a cat playing with a sparrow.  
  
It would be hard, but it would be worth her imaginary revenge she needed so much.  
  
~*~  
  
A/N: Oooo. What you think? Review please!  
  
"It's crazy what you could have had, I need this, I need this," R.E.M., Country Feedback. 


	4. Pantomime

Author's Note: Hey. Merry Christmas, guys. Sorry it's been so long okay? Enjoy! ^_^  
  
-Demons From Heaven-  
  
Chapter Three - Pantomime  
  
"Refill, Siania?"  
  
"Alright, thank you."  
  
"You don't need to be so polite you know. We are people you know, Sai, you shouldn't be so distant . . . formal."  
  
"I'm sorry, my Lord."  
  
"Sai . . ."  
  
"Never mind, Ico. It's obviously awkward for her. It has been a long time. But please don't feel you have to be on excellent conduct just because we have titles, Siania. We're all supposed to be friends here, aren't we?"  
  
"Yes, my Lady."  
  
Sighs of exasperation echoed from opposite ends of the table. Good. Siania had made Yorda and her precious husband feel uncomfortable and frustrated before she had done anything that would upset them greatly, which was her plan. It would be in operation soon, and the entire royal family would be at her mercy. Her plan was simple, well thought out and sheer genius, it would not only traumatise the victims, it would destroy them.  
  
Her plan was to kidnap the youngest child of Ico and Yorda, Princess Nianarra, and hold her hostage in an abandoned castle built on a tiny island. It was the twin castle of the one that Yorda and Ico had once been held in, and it was exactly the same. It was the only building on the miniature island, but had never been used. She would enclose her in one of the old cells used to sacrifice horned children, and if Ico and Yorda made it in time to save her, they too would be trapped. Once all three of them were dead, it would be simple to be rid of Prince Vari, the small seven year old unaware of his aunt's intentions. It would be a matter of time before Ara P'Way fell in a way of grief, riots breaking out all over the city, causing chain reactions of devastation about the islands. And all she had to do was eliminate a family of high decree.  
  
Siania did not want the crown for herself, it had never once crossed her mind. She was not like Giannias or Keoden. She was more clever, more intelligent, had put much more thought into her ploy than Yorda's previous would-be assassins. She was timing her strike well, she would take little Narra out the next day, lead her to the shore of the island, silence her, then travel by boat to the island not far away. It was a cunning and devious plan, foolproof and intoxicatingly ingenious.  
  
"More bread, Siania?" Ico asked, knocking the hidden traitoress out of her troubled mind and back into the world where she put on a front. Smiling at her foster brother, Siania took a piece of the warm freshly baked bread and placed it on her plate, wiped clean. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother Kiassa look at Raath and give him an approving smile, obviously pleased that Siania was making some progress in the mindless social activities she was being forced to oblige in.  
  
Inside her head, Siania thought evil things, but outside she wore a smile that was a ticking timebomb, waiting to explode.  
  
~*~  
  
The next day, Siania spontaneously requested an audience with Ico and Yorda's daughter, asking if she could take Nianarra out for a horse ride for a bonding session. At first Ico was strangely skeptical, but Yorda seemed desperate to be on good terms with Siania (for it was Yorda's nature to want to be friendly with everyone she met) and felt no suspicion lingering in her mind. Yorda thought kindly of people despite all her ordeals, and it was Ico who sensed something strange, though he did not say.  
  
"How long will you be?" he asked Siania, after she asked.  
  
"As long as we need to be. We'll return long before dark though, if that's what you're worried about." Siania replied smoothly.  
  
Ico nodded, and cast a sideways glance at his beautiful wife, who nodded and said, "I don't see there being a problem. Don't you think that'll be alright, Ico?"  
  
Ico smiled grimly, "Well . . . " he muttered, studying Siania's face for any traces of a hidden meaning. Although there was, he found none and knew he should trust her with his daughter, "Alright. As long as you're back by nightfall."  
  
Siania nodded and curtsied, stabbing Ico right in the eye with her stare, saying, "Thank you . .. Ico," before Yorda smiled heartily, nudging Narra out to meet Siania, who held out her hand for the princess to take. Nianarra obliged, giving her auntie a large childish grin, "Come, let us go and get ready. I shall ask the cook to prepare us a lunch, you must go and bring what you wish for the journey . . . trip. I shall go and collect a blanket for us to sit on. I will meet you outside with the horses it five minutes, alright?"  
  
The four-year-old understood, curtsied to Siania, blew a kiss to her mother and father(who both looked a little cautious), then ran off as quickly as her little legs could, her small dress flowing behind her. As soon as she approached her room she grabbed a large bag, stuffing her kitten Riara into it, covering the small tortoise-shell feline with a tunic. She fetched her riding cloak, which covered her from the cold when the horse rode fast.  
  
Meanwhile, Siania was writing a letter. In her bag was some rope, a cloth to cover the princess' twittering mouth with and the blanket, but not for a picnic. That was for the boat trip overnight, for it would be cold on the water. She also had some money to pay the boatsman she had hired to take her and the princess across. The man was against the royal family and very poor so was more than happy to help her for a handsome fee. When a large amount of money is involved that you need, morals disappear for men, for easily deceived are they.  
  
Now, Siania was aware that without the Spirits the job would be a difficult one, but she had solved this too. The Queen, Yorda's mother, had left a lease of her servants to return for whenever a person wished very hard to kill her daughter, for once Yorda died the Queen would return. Where the Queen herself and Keoden had failed, Siania would prevail and bring the true Queen's desired vessel to her death so she could return, and Siania would be rewarded. No doubt she would be pleased with the sum of her grandchildren and the boy that had caused her downfall in the first place.  
  
The Spirits were in place at the castle, their strongest point. They had been sent away and brought back many times now, and were keen to destroy the means of this. They would serve under Siania willingly, Ico and Yorda's heads in the bargain as well as their children. It appeared to be the perfect plan, and Siania let out a little chuckle as she signed the letter, which read:  
  
My Lord and Lady,  
  
You will be surprised to find that I am indeed not back for nightfall with your precious little daughter, I am in fact off the island with your precious little daughter, sailing for the twin castle. You know of which castle I speak. And you must go there if you wish to see Princess Nianarra again. Only there will I negotiate. I have only one thing now to say. You are both fools.  
  
Siania.  
  
Smiling wickedly, Siania left it on top of Nianarra's pillow, and left silently, walking calmly down the stairs to the front door where her beloved friend Biocha had once stood diligently for no purpose whatsoever but to die. She met the princess with the appropriately black horse, and together they rose off into the steadily rising sun. Siania had the whole day to get away, the pillow would not be checked till later that evening, she knew that.  
  
Against her shoulder, the small princess squealed in delight at being allowed such a daytrip. There was only one unexpected detail in Siania's organised plan, and that was the tiny little kitten in Narra's pack that would not cause a great problem. The plan was in action and working as smoothly as it possibly could.  
  
~*~  
  
A/N: Wooooo! Review please, hopefully the next chapter will be up shortly after Christmas. Enjoy Christmas people, God bless.  
  
"What must I have become, to deserve all the shit that you gave me? The rocks look like a body in the river, now I just wish that I could sleep." - Scary Mary, Biffy Clyro. 


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